Looking For The Long Ride

My purpose in writing today is to sort of set the record straight—as if it needs to be.

I had this thought the other day that if someone entered my life about the time I began to blog they would get an entirely different perspective of it from those who may have known me for the many years prior to me making my private thoughts public.

There are some that would come away from reading my posts thinking that I am a whinner—some would think I am a winner and others might think I live somewhere in between. Perhaps Japan or the middle east.

The exploratory process—though painful at times—is not without its’ mercy component. I am actually better off than I surely sometimes come across in blog-land.

I have recently come to understand that there are dark places inside that need some light in order for them to be healed and/or released in order for us to move forward in this Christian life. That the people we are closest to will likely be the ones that help this process by poking in just the right places. And at all the right/wrong times.

Of all the years I have lived the latter seem to be the years of acceptance and introspection. I can well remember the years of coasting—where everything seemed to fit into a place that had been designed for it. Those were the years when even the stupid things we did worked out for good.

Then came the years of drilling wells in order to find water—and the enemy came and covered them up and we went out and dug new ones and so on and so forth. We finally figured out how to cover them and pipe the water directly into our homes and things have been a bit different ever since.

Then came the years of understanding in which our children finally decided we were not all that bad after all and their father’s day cards were sincere and appreciated. We also began to see, during the years of understanding that most likely things were not going to turn out the way we had hoped.

And now, after going through the years of dispair that followed the years of understanding, we are in the years of fullfillment (which piggyback the years of acceptance and introspection)—only the time seems short and I spilled something on the map and can’t see where I am completely but can see all the roads leading to other places like spider webs in the sunlight.

Yes…there are more pluses than minuses in this year we are in—grace abounds where uncertainly begins. If we are looking for information—there is enough: for faith—it is within earshot; for love—we just need to open our eyes and see that there are a lot of people standing in the white fields. Some are looking at us and some are looking at someone else—there is enough.

During my recent trip to see my son and daughter in Raleigh, NC, I of course went to my nearest Barnes and Noble Bookstore while my wife and daughter shopped the mall. I found a book by a greek poet Miltos Sachtouris and another by an Israeli poet named Yehuda Amichai. Both are poets that seem to have reached a pinacle in that particular artform. The poem below is by Amichai and gives you a little glimpse into his world in Jerusalem. Enjoy!

What Kind of a Person

“What kind of a person are you,” I heard them say to me.
I’m a person with a complex plumbing of the soul,
Sophisticated instruments of feeling and a system
Of controlled memory at the end of the twentieth century,
But with an old body from ancient times
And with a God even older than my body.

I’m a person for the surface of the earth.
Low places, caves and wells
Frighten me. Mountain peaks
And tall buildings scare me.
I’m not like an inserted fork,
Not a cutting knife, not a stuck spoon.

I’m not flat and sly
Like a spatula creeping up from below.
At most I am a heavy and clumsy pestle
Mashing good and bad together
For a little taste
And a little fragrance.

Arrows do not direct me. I conduct
My business carefully and quietly
Like a long will that began to be written
The moment I was born.

Now I stand at the side of the street
Weary, leaning on a parking meter.
I can stand here for nothing, free.

I’m not a car, I’m a person,
A man-god, a god-man
Whose days are numbered. Hallelujah.

As we move forward in our lives, I have found that it is sometimes necessary to look back in order to maintain a proper perspective. If indeed, as I believe, our perception shapes our reality, then what we have remembered of our past is still at work in our day to day lives shaping our every move.

Let me explain.

I have existed in time and space for some 58 plus years. As I remember all those years today they seem to fit within an inch of space on the desk in front of me. Memories are like that—very tight and compressed. If we tried to make a movie of our lives, at the most it might take 3 hours to portray. Of course some things would be left out but you get the picture.

58 plus years equal 21,371 days that I have occupied some space in this reality we call the 20th and 21st century. More events have taken place during this time than can ever be remembered or written about. Kindergarten, 1st Grade, Ist love, first kiss, driver’s training, graduation, marriage, kids, job and vacations—just to name a few of the events that have taken place in our lives that mark our time on planet earth.

In my memory, they are only as wide as my head—eight to ten inches—but they all fit seemlessly in the cells and memory banks that make up my brain.

If you have made it this far—congratulatons.

The point that I am trying to make is this: is what I remember really true or have my memories been filtered through that elaborate system that makes me who I am.

Case in point: my father. Who was he and how did what he live through work its’ way into my life and form who I am. And is what I remember of him an accurate portrayal of the man or simply something I have made up over the years in order to make me feel better about myself.

Thinking about this I called his youngest brother the other night to check out some memories. I am sure that he was shocked to hear my voice on the other end of the line but he was very gracious to me in my moment of need. I haven’t talked with him for a couple of years but I felt a sense of urgency that can’t be fully explained at this time. And what I came away from our converstion was this: it really might be too late to get answers to the questions that seem to have arisen in my mind of late.

Who my dad was (he passed away several years ago) will not change any time soon in my memory—truth or not. What I am left with is what I have and I have mostly made peace with all of that. I was allowed the time to see him before he died from the cancer that was spreading rapidly through his body. I am ever grateful for that time. As far as I am concerned, we made our peace and came to the realization that we had both done our best in handling the situations that life presented us with.

Am I re-writting history—perhaps. Maybe we all are in some sort of 1984 time-warp and as time passes we update the files in our memory banks to fit where we need them to fit. Was life in my parents house as bad as I remember it or as good as I seem to think sometimes. Maybe somewhere in between. Does it really matter on a day to day basis? Perhaps not really that much. But these thoughts have occupied my mind for the past week or so and I thought it would be good to get them out and let them level things out a little bit.

It was overall, an excellent day and I hope yours was as well. Enjoy your ride.

This weekend Sandi and I visited our son and daughter who live in Raliegh, North Carolina. It is a 3 1/2 hour drive so we don’t visit all that often but when we do it is always a good trip and well worth the time we spend on the road. Part of the dynamic of life is seeing your kids grow up and make lives of their own—part of the enjoyment is visiting them on their turf and doing some of the things they enjoy doing.

Raleigh is a great place for me to visit but I am glad that I don’t live there—too many temptations. I tend to drink too much coffee at Starbucks and spend time and money I don’t realy have at Barnes and Noble Bookstores. And as far a that goes we will leave that alone for now.

In the process of thinking about our visit this past weekend, I was made aware of the fact that there are 6.7 billion people in the world at this point. A lot of them live in Raleigh and have cars and drive on the expressways and get in accidents when I visit—that is a fact of life. You really have not lived until you are stuck in traffic for a while and practicing your stop and go driving.

I do like the fact that a big city like Raleigh can support many of businesses that I tend to frequent—used book stores, Asian restaurants, little markets and thrift shops.

Anyway, it was a great trip. We were able to see our daughter Jessika’s art banners that are hanging in downtown Chapel Hill. They look fantastic and hopfully are just the beginning of her commerical art career. I took this picture of her against the biggest installation.

As you can see, this art banner is really pretty big. The installation (about 10 separate pieces) has not been without its challenges but hey, life doesn’t always just roll over and come easy—sometimes we have to get in the pool and get wetter than we had planned in order for things to work out. Anyway, it is first for Chapel Hill and a first for her as well.

Here’s to the future.

Life has it’s very own way of presenting us with just enough stuff to
handle in order to keep us busy and almost off-hook with making any
sort of definable progress—be it an exercise program or reading the
bible everyday.

Most of us are wise enough by this time to not
get caught up in the beginning of the year resolutions that were very
popular when we we young. They didn’t work then and they don’t work
now. What works is a change of heart.

And I might also add at this point a change of perspective.

How
we view ourselves at home/at work/ at rest and how we view ourselves in
Christ and what He has done for us is increasingly more important as
cultural time proceeds down its’ slippery slope. At this point in my
Christian walk I know that I don’t see myself totally as I should and
this not seeing clearly manifests itself in insecurity, anger and lack
of patience and understanding towards others—just to name the ones we
all deal with on a daily, weekly or monthly basis.

However dark
the few clouds in my life’s sky seem today, I really am making progress
towards being an authentic person and becoming more and more free of
the bad habits and character flaws that have kept me from totally
seeing the “peace that passes all understanding”.

I could go on
but that is not the point of this post—the real point is to introduce
you to a friend of mine I have referred to here and at reluctant servant
as my farmer friend Alan. Among many other talents that Alan has is one
of teaching the word in an authoritative and interesting fashion. A
couple of months ago he was recorded in a church in Taylorsville, NC
speaking on “Perceptions”. I haven’t yet listened to the whole thing
but from what I have read about this teaching in his newsletter, it is going to be rich and worth the time. I have shrunk the MP3 down to a managable size and parked it for listening at my website homepage. It is at the bottom of the page. Let me know what you think.

Today was one of those days off work where the morning was filled with activity and the afternoon was laid back and relaxed. Sandi and I had planned on being in New York City this weekend but with two weddings this summer found that we lacked the funds to get us there. So since I had already scheduled the days off, I took them anyway and stayed home.

And that is not neccesarily a bad thing even though it would be great to be with my wife in the Big Apple doing all the things we like to do when we are there. I am looking forward already to next year’s trip.

My lazy afternoon consisted of sitting around outside and reading and enjoying the mountain air and fall sunshine that is just a little less hot than the summer sun can be. I read the paper and began a book of poetry by Lawrence Raab entitled Visible Signs. He is a poet that is easily understood but in saying that I do not mean that he is simple. It is just that his language is saying a lot more than what the words on the page would at first seem to indicate. And to me, that is what makes great poetry—a blend of fragrances and subtle shades of color that grab you sometimes and slowly envelop you at others.

There were several verses that by themselves stuck out and seem to say a lot more to me than perhaps they were intended to. The first is:

nothing is only itself

This very small piece of a larger poem seems to resonate strongly in me that we are not alone on this journey—to think and act like we are is an error in thought. I really can’t say what this walk or Christian community is supposed to look and act like—but I do know that it is something that was put into my heart at the very moment I became a believer and has not left yet. I have seen us fail at living in it—I have seen relationships that were supposed to be kingdom type reduced to kind words in the church hallway on a Sunday morning. I could go on but you get the drift.

As I sat in my outdoor living room yesterday, these thoughts turned into an almost surreal rambling on paper that is somewhat oblique but I feel is still understandable.

9.12.2007

There’s more to this life than what I am seeing/feeling—experiencing.
Shades of nuance—hidden meanings—subteranean cultures.

Our box—the womblike enclosure that surrounds our every thought and movement
Changes shape daily as we move
From one level of awareness to the next.

Do you see what I see—can you hear what I hear?

Hey…the emperor is naked and thinks he is robed in splendor.
Maybe he is—in his God suit.

So much is hidden—so much we have passed over.
My life is certainly filled with information that will never benefit me
beyond the moment of knowing it.

Like so much junk mail piled high on the table—waiting for me to sort through it
and throw away the 97% of it that I am not interested in or pertains to me.

I get the feeling that if what I have stored in my memory banks were laid out as sheets of paper—
the paper would cover much of what we know to be North and South America— maybe
even a few islands in the South Pacific would be covered as well.

Yet I remain as tightly compressed as ever—a functioning body of skeleton and skin
who can alomost hear the sounds of the distant drummers
as I sit outside—sun shining through a slight breeze that loosens
the leaves of an early fall.

A swingset sits in my backyard—a memory—a moment
of past children laughing in their playful way.

What a time that was—when almost free from the pull of the earth
We dared to go higher and higher in an ever widening arc of freedom,
A motion of magic—eyes closed and imaginiing all sorts of daring adventures.

We made it through the day and lived to swing and ride bikes into the brave new world and beyond—into
our hopes and dreams. What makes me any different from you—nothing but what I have dared to see.

A days reality piled upon another and another like pipe smoke in the still air of post adolesence—can I touch it?

I remember the freedom of a Saturday afternoon with nothing to do and nowhere to be—turning into a
long walk along the beach until dusk with waves as my only company.

That simplicity turned inward and longing now for attention—release—all these days waiting for a place to take shape.

Can I hold them all?

___________________

It is raining in Boone today—a slow steady rain that is much needed.  Nothing is only itself.

As a lay in bed this early morning, in that half-awake time, I had a feeling not unlike that of being in the Matrix. Many times during my life I have, in waking early, been made aware of a dream program running in the background of my consciousness. Nothing specific like a movie in which I am a character or a set of dream images in which something is visually being worked out but a very real sense of some sort of mathematical process taking place. When I am still waking, this process is many times troubling in the sense I get of not being able to work the problem out—like never being able to fill the many containers that seem to surround me.

But when I become more fully aware of the dream and being awake, I am often amused at the fact that whatever was running in the background (like the Matrix image) would never be able to be worked out or understood enough to be put in a box and displayed so that it could be looked at clearly from all sides. Like something in a museum—locked in time for all to see.

Last night I went to sleep thinking about the process of life. And in pondering process this morning I am reminded of people who I have known who never seemed to be able to get out of a rut that was always lurking in the shadows of their lifes’ experience. It’s like when I became a Christian, a door of grace was open and I walked through it—I had no idea what I was doing at the time—only that it felt like the right thing to do. My life has been the better for it or so I fully believe even in light of all the many problems that face us world-wide as a human race.

I have often wondered if that same door was open for those people that seemed have all the problems and if so what was the deal—were they not able to see it or was my door only a window for them that was half open and six feet off the ground. I have come to the conclusion that it is one of the many questions that have no easy answers and I have more or less put that one on “the shelf”.

But what about “process”?

And how many different ways can we break down the concept of “being in process”?

Process can be understood as a series of actions, changes, or functions bringing about a result.

Still being in process means on one level that I haven’t arrived at my final destinaton—although while in process many of the seemingly smaller goals have been met or arrived at.

On one level I am glad to know all this and on another am aware that I don’t have enough life left to fully understand half of what I am attempting to grasp. There have always been questions as far back as I can remember. Sometimes it is enough just to be aware of them and continue the ride—other times it seems imperative that I understand them and live them out fully.

Like the process of removing the obstacles in our lives that keep us from fully connecting with one another—that keep us from life itself and the pursuit of all that is ours to become.

Am I being reckless in posting my thoughts before I have arrived at a place of fully comprehending them? A look at my last post is almost a little scary in the sense of being vulnerable and somewhat naive at the same time. The more we say the easier it is to be mis-understood and I realize that I am into some stuff that is a lot deeper than I thought it was at first.

True north exists and I am still figuring out how to use the compass I was given many years ago. I may still bump into a few trees in the forest as I move forward, but I am determined to keep walking until daylight breaks forth and I not only see the forest, but the trees as well.

I have lately been perplexed by the very distinct impression that life is a series of highs and lows—ups and downs—ins and outs—and that the goal, expressed by my favorite new testament personality Paul (aside from you know who) of “…I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am”, is always going to be just a little bit beyond my grasp or understanding.

As most of you know, I enjoy blogging—the very act of putting my thoughts together gives me a peace that is difficult to fully describe.

When I have “something” to wirte about—a revelation or slant or perception that seems like it is going somewhere—I am a happy camper. I listen to music, read books and poetry and have long converstations with my wife which often produce fuel for contemplation and further written investigation. I am also an observer of people and events and very often the act of living everyday is my muse.

I have great friends and a good job and some very special children.

So what is lacking: a consistancy of being constant.

Last week I was making progress with my life—overcoming the very obstacles that were set in place by the enemy of my soul to keep me from living life to its fullest. Today, after several full frontal attacks, I feel I am a shell of my former self. My former self being that person I had become comfortable with during the past couple of weeks of overcoming part five thousand and sixty two.

There always seems to be an event or singular circumstance that knocks me off my perceived course. In psychological terms it is called a trigger—an action that produces a response that can be either life affirming or the other way around. And to make matters worse, what knocked me for a loop I didn’t expect or see coming.

I guess I tend to look at life as a series of little steps that when taken move us forward and into our destiny. Healing is a similar process—the house gets built with each subsequent brick that is placed upon the one before it. What was once a single brick becomes a wall with the addition of sand and water and cement.

And I guess therein lies the problem and the quandry I find myself in all too often—is the house already built for me or am I in the process of learning the steps in order to construct it myself?

As I write I am reminded of a book I once read by Albert Camus about the myth of Sisyphus. The final chapter compares the absurdity of man’s life with the situation of Sisyphus, a figure of Greek mythology, who was condemned to repeat forever the same meaningless task of
pushing a rock up a mountain, only to see it roll down again. The essay
concludes, “The struggle itself is enough to fill a man’s heart. One
must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Now I don’t believe that life is meaningless but I can and do sometimes relate to pushing the rock up a mountain only to see it fall back down again. In other words we see a flaw in our lives and work to amend it and after a strong week or two get kicked in the very area of advancement. Then we wallow around for a bit before we pick ourselves up and begin the process of moving forward again—happily not from the same way back place but from one a little closer to our destination than what we had achieved before the current set-back. Ad naseum—ad infinitum or something like that.

My friend David says that he has quit playing that particular game and fully believes that he has arrived for all practical purposes. And to a greater degree I believe that he has—but I am not quite there yet—not that I won’t ever be.

Life really is a ride. But sometimes the highway department comes along and in their attempt to fix a road actually make it worse for a bike rider. They give it the old mountain “tar and fine gravel” treatment rather than lay down some real asphalt. What was once a smooth surface for me to travel on becomes one that I avoid and wonder why they did what they did. So I look for another route to take in order to make my ride interesting—or continue to endure the bumpy pavement.

Ultimately I guess a ride is a ride is a ride and I should be thankful for that much. It’s getting late and I will give this whole thing some more thought tomorrow. Keep you eyes on the road.

I am afraid that I have been more “serious” lately with my blogging and have to admit that there are seasons in our lives that are “deep calling to deep” as it were. It is not like I really plan any of this—it either happens or it doesn’t. You are either describing the scenery and events around you at the moment or something from your memory of them—or a combination of the two.

Yesterday was Labor Day and I work at a job that kindly allows us to take the day off. And I made the most of it. The day dawned as one of the most pleasant days in recent history—not to hot and no rain in the forecast. I met my biking buddies at nine and we headed out for a great ride on one of the best biking roads in Western North Carolina—Three Top road which deadends into NC 88. I guess you have to be a biker to appreciate the view from a saddle that is very narrow and looks like it hurts to sit on it—especially for several hours. But you soon forget the saddle and the bike and become one with the countryside. It is almost undescribeable.

I got a behind in my timing and was a little late getting home so Sandi and I and Laura could go hiking to the Hebron Falls with our friends the Whittington’s. But after a quick shower we headed out to Jullian Price Park, just off the Blue Ridge Parkway in order to hike the 2 and a half miles into the woods to experience the beauty of where we live everyday.

What you see in the photo below is just small part of what we saw yesterday. This picture was taken by Brad K in the fall sometime and the link to his site is below the picture. The leaves yesterday were still mostly greeen but the local drought has taken its toll and the trees are losing leaves right and left.

<img src="/images/49366-44812/34344063_P9252744.jpg” border=”0″ width=”599″>

Link to Photo

Anyway, it is my hope that you had a great Labor Day and that life is treating you well. September and October are some of the best days in the mountains of North Carolina—so we haven’t really missed anything yet.

I am a man at odds with his very own self-image—a poet who only sometimes seems to find the right words to describe the world around him—a musician who will more than likely never reach the euphoria that hides itself within the walls of the many notes that still pass themselves off as a possibility to be played—to be discovered.

There is the romanicist and the realist—the dreamer and the daytriper—the guy who goes to work everyday and is faithful to do his best but at the same time would like to be on a trip around the world drinking coffee in sidewalk cafés from Paris to Barcelona—Venice to Vietnam and all the ports in between.

“Something’s lost and something’s gained in living everyday”, Joni Mitchell sang so long ago and maybe Andy Warhol needed a little more time in the spot light and used up my fifteen minutes of fame creating the now famous Campbell’s Soup Can silk screen day-glo print.

I am convinced of nothing at this point but certain about this: Progress is being made but sometimes it seems like the guy in the picture—the one we see advancing—lives in another city and at night falls asleep in a room identical to mine but has none of my memories—none of my fears—none of my dreams. At times it seems like he will make it but not even begin to appreciate the struggles and the sacrifices it took to finally win the prize. To finish the race—complete the course—finally reach his destiny and fullfillment.

I am aware that things in the natural are always darkest before the breakthrough—that we are almost always closer to where we want to be than where we think we are. But tonight, I seem to be looking from the valley rather than from the mountain top and I realize that it is only a matter of perspective—a matter of where I let my mind relax. I can not think myself into becoming the president of General Motors but that doesn’t mean I need to let my mind reduce me into becoming a bag-person destined to walk the streets of Loredo forever.

At this point I am not even sure I can find the end of what my thoughts have begun—or whether or not I need to. I am aware that I can sometimes say more of what I mean by writing than by speaking out loud. Or at least with people that don’t fully get who I am or have the patience to wade through a few disconnected thoughts to finally arrive at the center of what is being bought forth.

As I have been writing I have been listening to Keith Jarrett and Chick Corea, both piano players beyond belief—playing music that was recorded 10 to 15 years ago but which still vibrates with a certain validity today.

I am reading Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino and perhaps this event more than any other has put me in a place of creative longing and desperation for something out of the ordinary.

Or maybe it is listening to the set of teaching tapes by Dr. Michael Ryce called Why Is This Happening To Me Again that has unearthed and loosed all sorts of things in my life. I am simultaneously a doe caught in someone’s headlights and a rock climber ascending a difficult mountain with only my hands and feet to aid in the climbing process. Weak and strong—daring and timid—all of these attitudes and feelings swirling around in a small shallow pool in somebody else’s backyard.

As a pilgrim who began his pilgrimage with only tomorrow in my sights, I have come a long way and seen a tremendous shift occur in the heavenly realms that are constantly overhead—swinging back a forth like a porch swing on a windy day. Healing has many facets and as one part of a person grows stronger, work begins on a piece that is connected to another part and so on and so forth.

The words are still there—merely waiting for meaning to fill them up like so many buckets set about the yard with the purpose of collecting the rain that falls—alphabet like—from time to time.

I received an e-mail last night from my younger brother who sent me a poem I had written and recorded more than 30 years ago during a period when I was thinking a lot like Jack Kerouac. Since it is the 50th anniversary of On The Road, I give you the poem Sweep.

Sweep

As I sat captivated by the “Bourne Ultimatum” this afternoon, I realized that there are many towns, cities and countries that I have not been to yet. The movie was fast-track action all the way through with never a moment when something significant wasn’t happening—snooze you lose.

As they pictured Heathrow Airport, Tangiers, Spain and other places of interest, I was struck by the fact that I would be perfectly happy to take a trip around the world and spend my remaining days wandering around in inbetween all the many cultures that exist in the world today. Can you get your head around Paella in Spain and Falafel in Turkey.

What would I have to become to have this dream morph into reality: a missionary, a diplomat, a US liason, or a rich person living out a life of luxury?

Now this sudden attraction may have something to do with the fact that I have just begun reading a new book entitled “Invisible Cities” by italo calvino a Cuban raised for most of his life in Italy. I learned about this book while reading another called “Einstein’s Dreams” which is probably the most unique book I have ever read. A reviewer quoted on the cover of that book likened it to calvino’s work and when I had an opportunity I purchased it.

Like many great authors, calvino creates a world where you can begin to believe all that he has to say really took place. “Invisible Cities” is the story of Marco Polo relating to the aged Kublai Khan the memories of the many cities that he has visited. calvino is a superb storyteller and like many books written by such talent, it takes a while to find the grove and begin to flow with what has been written—but once you do it is like hearing a great song for the very first time.

But I digress. As I watched the Bourne movie I was struck by the fact that 98% of the world is still unknown and unseen by me, myself and I—three people who would very much like to travel to the ends of the earth and taste the many different cuisines up close and personal like.

Yes, going to Africa was a dream that I had had within me for more years than I can remember—hitch hiking western Europe in the late sixties was an experience that has no modern day comparison. But just to think that all these places awake to the same sun in the sky that I wake to is almost more than I can bear. I can almost taste the wine making regions of France and feel the soil beneath my finger nails. The proud soviet cities and the mysterious sub-cutures in far east Asia. The aboriginal tribes of Austraila and the people of Latin America and siesta’s and so forth.

You can tell that I haven’t thought this whole thing out—there are many details missing. But the sense of adventure that I feel as I even let myself think these thoughts is just this side of intoxicating.

Reality is that it was payday last Friday and after all the bills are taken care of I will no doubt have enough cash to fit in a few lunches and maybe some extra vitamins and a trip to the chiropractor. With $3 dollar a gallon gas, two weddings and tires for the winter, Sandi and I had to give up going to New York this fall—but there is always spring in the city and next year will be our 30th anniversary—so if we start putting money into an envelope we might make it out of Boone next year. Here’s to hoping we all arrive at the next stop on our journey through life.